Chapter 72

The abandoned warehouse loomed ahead like a skeletal beast, its rusted metal doors slightly ajar. The structure was barely standing, its walls riddled with cracks, graffiti, and the echoes of forgotten dealings. A single flickering light above the entrance cast eerie shadows against the damp pavement. The scent of damp wood, oil, and decay lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of the city beyond.

Enzo adjusted his coat, his every step deliberate as he walked inside. The sound of his boots echoed in the cavernous space, bouncing off the steel beams overhead. He kept his guard up, fingers twitching near his holster. His instincts had been sharpened over years of survival-years of knowing that a meeting in a place like this never came without risk.

He wasn't alone.

A figure emerged from the darkness, moving with controlled precision, his posture tense. The dim overhead lights barely illuminated his features, but Enzo recognized him immediately. Rafael.

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them stretched thick and heavy, filled with unspoken tension.

"Took you long enough," Enzo finally muttered, his voice low, edged with impatience.

Rafael stepped closer, his sharp features becoming more visible. He had the look of a man who hadn't slept in days-his eyes shadowed, jaw clenched like he was fighting an internal war. His leather jacket was damp from the night air, his stance cautious, as though every muscle in his body was primed for an attack.

"You shouldn't have come alone," Rafael murmured, his voice rough and heavy with something that sounded dangerously close to regret.

Enzo's lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "If this is a setup, you better pray to whatever god you believe in that I die fast." His tone was calm, but there was a deadly promise behind his words.

Rafael exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I'm not here to kill you, Enzo. I'm here because you're standing on a landmine, and you don't even know it."

A flicker of irritation burned in Enzo's chest, but he kept his expression unreadable. He had always known that secrets ran deep in their world, but something about Rafael's words sent a chill through him. "Start talking."

Rafael hesitated, his gaze shifting around the warehouse as if unseen eyes lurked in the shadows. Then, he stepped even closer, lowering his voice.

"Vince isn't just taking over," Rafael whispered. "He's replacing the foundation, brick by brick. He's making alliances with people you wouldn't even let breathe in your presence."

Enzo's shoulders tensed. "Who?"

Rafael swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "The kind of people who don't need guns to win wars."

Something cold curled in Enzo's gut. He had seen blood, betrayal, and power plays-but this? This was different. This wasn't just about control. It was something much worse.

Rafael lowered his voice even further, his words barely more than a breath. "Vince's takeover isn't about power. It's about revenge. And the person he wants to destroy-"

A sharp noise cut through the warehouse. A scrape of metal. A shift in the shadows.

Someone was listening.

The air turned electric. Enzo moved on instinct, his hand flying to his weapon as Rafael's expression twisted with alarm.

Then-

A shot rang out.

The bullet missed by inches, striking a rusted barrel behind them. The sharp clang of impact echoed through the warehouse, followed by the acrid scent of burning gunpowder.

Enzo lunged sideways, grabbing Rafael and pulling him down as more gunfire erupted. The echoes slammed against the steel walls, making it impossible to tell where the shots were coming from. The attackers weren't shooting blindly-they were skilled and precise.

They were pinned.

Enzo gritted his teeth and rolled behind a stack of crates, pressing his back against the rough wood. His mind worked fast, assessing the situation. Shadows flickered against the dim warehouse lights-three, maybe four men.

Rafael cursed under his breath. "They must've followed me."

Enzo didn't respond. He tilted his head, listening. The heavy thud of boots echoed closer, each step measured and controlled.

One step too eager. One breath too loud.

Enzo pivoted and fired. The gunshot shattered the air, and the man closest to him collapsed, a strangled gasp escaping his lips before he hit the concrete.

The others returned fire.

Bullets whizzed past, splintering wood and ricocheting off metal. Enzo stayed low, moving like a predator in the dark. His pulse was steady, his breathing even. He had been in too many firefights to let adrenaline cloud his focus.

He caught a glimpse of one attacker's face-a stranger, but his movements were too controlled, too precise for a common thug. These weren't ordinary mercenaries.

A bullet grazed Enzo's arm, the sting sharp but ignorable. He gritted his teeth and swung his gun upward, firing three shots in quick succession. Another body dropped.

Silence.

Enzo exhaled slowly, scanning the space. A third man lay groaning on the ground, clutching his stomach where Enzo's bullet had ripped through flesh.

Rafael wasted no time. He crouched beside the dying man, pressing his knee against his chest, pinning him down. "Who sent you?"

The man choked, blood staining his lips. His eyes, wide with pain, darted to Enzo.

And then, in a final, rasping breath-

"Vince."

The word barely escaped before his body went still.

Enzo's grip on his gun tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears.

So, it was true.

Vince had just declared war.

The headquarters was eerily quiet when Enzo stepped inside. His blood-streaked sleeve stuck to his skin, but he ignored it. His mind was focused on only one thing.

Vince.

The moment Enzo pushed through the heavy doors of Vince's office, the other man looked up, completely unbothered by the intrusion. He was seated behind an oak desk, crisp shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a glass of whiskey resting near his fingertips.

Vince studied him, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You look like hell," he observed, taking a slow sip of his drink.

Enzo didn't smile. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the bloodied bullet casing from the warehouse floor, and slammed it onto Vince's desk.

"Tell me what the hell you're really up to."

Vince stared at the casing for a long moment, tilting his head slightly. Then, he leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're angry."

Enzo's jaw ticked. "Don't play games with me, Vince."

Vince swirled the whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. "If you knew the truth, Enzo, you'd wish you never asked."

Enzo stepped closer, planting both palms on the desk. "You sent men to kill me."

Vince's gaze remained calm. "And yet, here you are. Alive. Which means either they failed, or you're just that good."

Enzo's muscles coiled, tension rippling through him. He was seconds away from launching across the desk and wrapping his fingers around Vince's throat.

Vince sighed as if he were exhausted by the whole ordeal. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached beneath his desk.

A soft click.

A hidden safe.

Enzo's eyes narrowed as Vince pulled out a single file-thick, aged, its corners frayed with time. He placed it on the desk between them.

"You want answers?" Vince said smoothly. "Start reading."

Enzo hesitated, his instincts screaming at him.

There was something in those pages that would change everything.

His hand hovered over the file.

And then, with a sharp exhale, he flipped it open.